


In Between The Nightmare, Everything's Real

by Mike_H



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mike_H/pseuds/Mike_H
Summary: Congratulations on winning the raffle! :D
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Izuna
Comments: 13
Kudos: 46





	In Between The Nightmare, Everything's Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deeambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeambles/gifts).



> Congratulations on winning the raffle! :D

"Tell me something," Izuna says, staring up at nothingness. Stars above him. He looks at them without really _seeing,_ body present, mind faraway. He does not look at Tobirama, and still he can feel the weight of his presence, by his side, upon the grass.

Tobirama, who is silent. A heartbeat passes, two, fifty-three. Then, his voice. This deep thing, rough and velvet. "You keep going," he says, "because they're still alive."

Izuna closes his eyes. Spots of light amid the darkness. The stars have followed him here, blurred images upon the backs of his eyelids. It's better this way. Just once, he would like to close his eyes and see something else. Anything but his brother's face, corpse-pale, bruise-black, blood-red.

  


* * *

  


There is an invisible weight upon him. So much pressure against his chest, crushing his lungs, his airways.

Grief is a cruel mistress. She clings to him, vise-tight, coiling, constricting. Izuna thinks he should cry, but he's long since run out of tears.

His little brother is dead.

He can't unsee it — the broken, empty shell of Madara's body. He had looked so _wrong._ All life, like a candleflame, extinguished.

And in Izuna, an inferno, ignited.

  


* * *

  


He hates the useless words. The pitying looks. It's all empty, like he is, even when he's filled with so much pain, he thinks his body would split from the inside out, hollow blackness spilling into the soil.

Even now, he cannot step into a room without it going suddenly quiet. He knows what they think of him. The rabid Uchiha, insane with bloodlust and grief.

But they're wrong.

Izuna knows that destroying his enemies is the sanest thing he's ever done.

  


* * *

  


Tobirama does not waste time nor breath with pointless words. He is — ever and always — by Izuna's side, a sinister shadow.

Blood upon his blade that sings in the moonlight. He parts flesh from cartilage from bone. There is no greater melody, Izuna thinks, than the dying screams of their enemies, breath halted, light snuffed out.

Tobirama is a nightmare.

Izuna knows this, has always known it, revels in it.

Tobirama is the only one who truly understands him. Pain dances within the dark depths of his eyes. Izuna is the only one who sees it — the agony and rage that thrum beneath the glacial mask he wears, warring and desperate to get out.

Tobirama is strong because he _is._ Unbreakable because he _has_ to be.

He grieves with madness and vengeance. Insanity, unleashed. For Madara was his friend, and Hashirama's lover.

And Izuna knows, that Tobirama is the only one who knows how he feels.

When Madara died, all the things that mattered in Hashirama died too.

  


* * *

  


He does not know how to stop being angry.

It eats away at him, corroding his insides till there's nothing left but this deep-seated fury. It's suffocating, and still he feeds it, nurtures it till hate and hollowness are all he knows.

He is angry, even when Tobirama pushes him to the bloodied ground and fucks him upon it. Blood of their enemies, feeding the earth. It makes Izuna laugh, this too-loud, too-sharp thing that sounds so much like a broken sob.

He is all arms and legs and bitterness, wrapping around Tobirama, clinging like a possessive lover.

Tobirama is angry too, always, always. He tastes like poison and sorrow.

Izuna greedily drinks from him, feeding off his rage, feeding the insatiable, avaricious emptiness inside him that only knows how to consume.

He knows Tobirama feeds off him too. They are feral things, biting, clawing, drowning, dying.

Corpses among corpses.

Izuna wishes they would burn till nothing but ash remains.

  


* * *

  


He keeps going.

He does so because he must.

He lives for vengeance.

It is the only thing he cares about. There are always people to kill. It never ends, even when those who took Madara from him are long since dead.

This is the only mission he cares about — ridding the world of people like _them._ He sees them in every hurt, every injustice. Sees _Madara_ in every blameless victim.

There is something inside him that won't stop screaming. It thirsts. Hungers. And no amount of bloodshed would silence it.

  


* * *

  


He fights until he can't.

Then he fights some more.

  


* * *

  


He dreams of darkness. He is blind, deaf, and mute, but he knows it's there — creeping and closing in upon him.

And in the dark, Madara. Tears of blood upon his face. Hate within his eyes. "You failed," he says. His words are a rusted blade in Izuna's gut, twisting.

"You were supposed to protect me," Madara accuses, "but you let me die."

  


* * *

  


He wakes clawing at his own throat. Izuna wants to scream, but he can't. He cannot breathe. Cannot cry.

He can only see Madara, dead and broken.

Fingers, closing upon his wrists, gently pulling his hands from his neck. _Tobirama._

Izuna lurches upward, falls into Tobirama's embrace. He presses his face to Tobirama's chest and wails like a wretched thing. Everything hurts. Every gulp of air burns. For a moment, Izuna wants to die.

Tobirama's hands are warm points along the bare skin of Izuna's back. They move up and down his spine, this soothing rhythm. Tobirama's kiss, upon the crown of Izuna's head.

Izuna tries to bend his focus on Tobirama and none else. He stays there, clinging to Tobirama like a lifeline, till all he can hear is the quiet song of Tobirama's breaths, the strength of his heartbeat.

And still, the vestiges of his dream remain.

"It should've been me," Izuna says, into the dark. "I killed him."

Tobirama's arms tighten around him, but no denial escapes his lips.

Izuna knows that Tobirama would say the same if it had been Hashirama in Madara's place.

  


* * *

  


He tries not to think about time.

Every moment that passes is another without Madara in it. Every moment, he is reminded of his failure.

Izuna doesn't try to pick up the pieces of what little remains of his life. Everything is unfixable. He does what he does because it's all there is.

Tobirama is always there, even when Izuna thinks they'd be better off apart. Tobirama, unbending, unbreakable. They bathe the world in blood and fuck among the corpses. Izuna lives his life in an inescapable loop of pain. Happiness is unreachable.

When night falls, Izuna presses his ear to Tobirama's chest and listens to his heartbeat. It comforts him, keeps him going.

He is a frozen thing, finding his place in Tobirama's arms, seeking warmth.

And even _this_ feels wrong — that he should be warm when Madara was cold. Helpless. _Alone._

Izuna clings to Tobirama, even as guilt drowns him.

  


* * *

  


A decade has passed. Izuna stands before Madara's grave, fists clenched. His nails bite into his palms. It never gets easier. Izuna does not want it to.

"He would've been twenty-eight today," Izuna says, as if Tobirama does not know Madara's age. "He would have been happy."

"He was," Tobirama says, as if it matters.

It _does._ It _should._

Izuna sighs. He looks skyward, closes his eyes. Blindly reaches for Tobirama's hand. "Tell me something."

Even through his gloves, Tobirama's fingers are warm. His voice is an anchor. "I'm here."

It's not happiness, but it's enough.


End file.
